


The Way You Taste With A Drink

by WhatTheBodyGraspsNot



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: Chris tries to help, Drunk Hook-Up, During CATWS filming, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, I have no idea how this turned into an 11k word fic, Lots of Drunk!Seb, M/M, Smoking, poor decision-making, recreational alcohol use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 12:40:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1858416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatTheBodyGraspsNot/pseuds/WhatTheBodyGraspsNot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian chuckles quietly to himself, some sort of self-effacing joke probably playing out in his mind, still eyeing the carpet. “Well I’ve been known to…not make great decisions when I’ve had too much to drink. I just…sometimes I kind of need…back up…” He looks at Chris now, pale blue and vulnerable concern. “…so I don’t end up fucking up somehow.”</p><p>Chris can’t help the fond smile that tugs at his lips, or the proud little orb of warmth that materializes in his chest at the thought of Sebastian trusting him with such a task. “So more or less, you want me to keep an eye on you.”</p><p>OR:<br/>Sebastian asks Chris to help keep an eye on him when he drinks, knowing just how poor of a decision-maker he is when he's had too much (he's got an entire following on some website called Tumblr based off his horrendous drunk selfies). Chris agrees happily, figuring he can hold his liquor pretty well himself, so of course he can keep tabs on Seb. But it ends up that he's shit at it. And one thing leads to another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way You Taste With A Drink

 

Nobody really makes a big deal out of Sebastian never coming out for drinks with the crew. They mention it once or twice immediately after he answers with a gracious little smile, honored to be asked out for drinks with the likes of his costars, but then politely declines and disappears before any further questioning.

Chris thinks it’s just how Sebastian is: polite, self-effacing, maybe a little shy. Because he knows Seb. Knows that he’s a remarkably fun guy. Knows that he has a remarkably good time wherever he ends up. He’s known it since the first Captain America. It’s just never at a bar. And that’s okay.

The one time Scarlett manages to pry him out of his trailer for a night of drinks, Chris notices quite a few things. Like the fact that Sebastian doesn’t open a tab, electing to pay cash for each individual drink instead, regardless of the hassle. Or the fact that he turns down wave after wave of free shots with a joke and a smile, watching contently as everyone else partakes.

Chris notices it all, but he doesn’t think very much of it until one night where everyone--and he means almost every single person from the set who is willing and able--plans to celebrate at the bar a few blocks away from the sound stage.

And it’s like Sebastian _knows_ he can’t decline, _knows_ that he doesn’t have a good enough excuse to not be there with everyone, so he smiles and nods and says that he’ll meet up with them when he’s done getting out of his metal arm.

They pass each other on the way to their respective trailers and something in Sebastian shifts as he reaches out, gently touches Chris’s arm as they pass and says lowly: “Hey, could you wait up a few before leaving?”

Chris blinks, then nods, smiling. “Sure thing.”

They don’t even stop walking. It’s just one fluid motion from start to finish.

Chris ends up sitting for twenty minutes, catching up on emails in his trailer as he waits. It doesn’t bother him—the waiting. He enjoys it, in fact; some time to just sit down and rest in the almost-silence before heading over to a bar bustling with people who are all going to want to talk.

It’s around 8:45 when the knocking finally lands on the metal door and Chris shouts an approval.

Sebastian steps into his trailer, hair now tied back into a bun and left arm looking a little red from twenty thousand people all trying to take the metal arm prop off of him at once.

“Hey there.” His smile is small, reserved, and that’s when Chris automatically tunes into the discomfort in the younger man. “You’re goin’ out with everyone tonight, right?”

Chris tosses his phone onto the table next to him and nods. “You are too, yeah? People are pretty excited to finally see you out again.”

The corners of Sebastian’s mouth curl up just slightly, his eyes brushing over the pattern on the carpet as he leans up against the wall. “Yeah. I was actually wondering if I could ask you a favor.”

Chris’s posture straightens, immediately launching into big-brother mode whether he would like to or not. “Of course. What’s up?”

Sebastian chuckles quietly to himself, some sort of self-effacing joke probably playing out in his mind, still eyeing the carpet. “Well I’ve been known to…not make great decisions when I’ve had too much to drink…”

That floats between them for a moment, and Chris waits patiently for him to continue. So that’s why he never joins them at the bar, why he pays for each drink individually instead of opening a tab and therefore an easy supply of liquor.

“I’m usually pretty good at keeping myself in check,” Seb continues, now brave enough to have his eyes land over near Chris, but not on him. “I just…sometimes I kind of need…back-up…” He looks at him now, pale blue and vulnerable concern. “…so I don’t end up fucking up somehow.”

Chris can’t help the fond smile that tugs at his lips, the proud little orb of warmth that materializes in his chest at the thought of Sebastian trusting him with such a task. “So more or less, you want me to keep an eye on you.”

“I know it’s super dumb and that I should be able to keep it together myself—”

“No,” Chris smiles, finally standing, “No, I get it. It’s smart of you to actually realize you need something like that.”

Sebastian exhales loudly, face softening at the acceptance. “Trust me, I’ve fucked up enough to know what I need.”

Something in the back of Chris’s head wants to pull at that thread, wants to maybe ask ‘Like what?’ But he knows it’s none of his goddamn business, so he instead opts for: “Anything I should be watching out for?”

Sebastian looks like he’s on the edge, his mouth filled to the brim with examples of what could go wrong and ways he can screw up. But he just takes a second, and then says, “If I somehow get my hands on a smoke, that’s usually a bad sign.”

Cigarettes, Chris begins his internal list. Got it. “Okay.”

“And I usually stick to beer instead of hard shit.”

Chris smiles, “Okay.”

“No vodka. God, don’t let me drink vodka or it’s not gonna end pretty for anyone.” Sebastian’s eyes are wide with experience, but his mouth is curling in that way that it does before he’s about to smile so adorably that people will start running into closed doors from being distracted by his presence.

But yeah, no vodka. Noted. “Anything else?”

Sebastian chuckles to himself, like he’s so completely fucked already that he could say anything and it still wouldn’t matter. “I dunno, just--…thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

Chris smiles, gives his friend’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “No problem. I’d do anything for you.” That…yeah that slips out.

Sebastian smiles but his brow furrows slightly, like he’s not sure what’s happening.

“That sounded weird,” Chris tilts his head, eyes closing in a wince that he hopes doesn’t look too much like embarrassment. “Let me try that again without sounding like I’m proposing to you.”

That pulls a laugh out of Sebastian, a true, unabashed laugh that has his eyes shining like he’s just heard the most amusing thing in the world. It gives Chris the strength to recover quickly. “It’s a good thing you can hold your liquor well. I can only imagine the weird shit you’d say after a few hard ones.”

“Hard ones?” Chris can’t help the immature smile that stretches across his face.

Sebastian rolls his eyes, but the amusement is still there. “Jesus, seriously? Drinks. Hard drinks, Chris.”

“I know,” Chris muses, doing his best not to start laughing like a twelve-year old boy who’s just heard someone tell a dirty joke.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Thank you.”

They share a taxi to the bar, which isn’t totally necessary because it’s not like they’re hurting for money, but they do it anyway—something about the reassurance that goes hand in hand with the closeness of a friend.

Much of the cast and crew is already there, spread out in stools around the circular tables scattered across the bar. There’s an unexpected swell of excitement when Sebastian walks in, causing him to falter a little as Anthony’s voice rises above everyone else’s with a boisterous “FUCKING FINALLY.”

Honestly, Chris isn’t surprised. He’s not the only one who realizes how amazing this kid is--how genuine he is, how really goddamn easy it is to get along with him, all smiles and cute little blushes because he’s still not used to people really knowing who he is in the grand scheme of things.

Sebastian makes his way over to where Anthony is sitting and Chris follows, because that’s where he was heading anyway. Mackie is beside himself with excitement and never-ending teasing about why the hell he hasn’t come out--"Is it because you don’t like me anymore? Because if so, I'm hurt, man."

One of the perks of being affiliated with a movie of this caliber is that service comes easy. Case in point: it takes all of fifteen seconds for someone to come over and take drink orders for Chris and Sebastian, everyone else at the table already nursing their own. And then it’s like… _maybe_ a minute and a half and then their drinks are set in front of them, icy cold and ready to be downed.

Good on his word, Sebastian throws back beers almost the entire night, reaching into his wallet to pull out a few crisp bills every time their server comes back.

The later the night grows, the more aware Chris is about the vagueness of the perimeters they had set a few hours ago in his trailer. Just how closely is he supposed to be paying attention? Is he supposed to know how many drinks Seb’s had already, because he doesn’t. If he had to guess, he’d say four or five. But it’s a guess. And he’s not entirely sure what he’s supposed to be doing.

Sebastian is happily loose, his smile a permanent fixture on his face, all sweet and endearing.

A round of shots is delivered to them, their server motioning over to the table of higher-ups from production or something. Chris doesn’t register the problem—a little loose himself—until he spots Sebastian eyeing the tiny shot glass with hesitancy. It’s filled to the brim with something clear, and Chris can tell by the way his friend gives an inconspicuous sniff and then scrunches his nose almost imperceptibly that it’s got to be vodka.

He watches out of the corner of his eye, wondering if he should be doing something—intercepting somehow. Then Sebastian glances up at him, the smallest hint of concern flashing in his eyes, like he’s silently trying to ask for help. For an out.

Chris blanks. How exactly do you get somebody out of doing a group shot?

“Hey Seb, is that your phone?” he blurts out, hoping it doesn’t sound as totally spur of the moment as it is.

Their eyes never left each other, and Sebastian does this little quirk of a smile as he feigns surprise, digging into his pocket and pulling out his cell phone. “Whoa, how’d you hear that?” He’s just as good (or bad) at bullshitting as Chris, climbing down from his stool.

Chris shrugs, content, and Sebastian squeezes his arm a little as he walks by, phone pressed to his ear.

“Hey. No, hold on a second. I can barely hear you...” he hears him say to no one as he wades his way through the sea of people and out the back door for what the others assume is a quiet place to talk.

Chris kinda feels like a spy, or a conman, or something else sneaky, having successfully navigated his friend away from the unwanted shot of vodka with ease. Anthony says something about waiting for his return before they all take the shot, but Chris waves it off with confidence. “He’ll catch up.”

Except he doesn’t. Because it’s been almost an hour and Sebastian has yet to come back to the table. Chris tries not to linger on it, figures he’s probably just milking the out for all it’s worth, or maybe got caught up talking to someone else. But then another half an hour passes, and he’s still a no-show.

Chris takes it upon himself to slip him a text, concerned but not clingy. _You still here?_

It takes ten full minutes for a response to come, and when it does, Chris feels a little something in his gut sink.

_Ya were ath he back_

And then another. _loooool wutim the bes typer_

Chris’s eyes immediately snap up, scanning the bar for Sebastian. The incoherency of those texts is not a good sign. At all. He excuses himself from the table, nodding when Anthony checks to see if everything is alright, clearly picking up on the concern written across Chris’s face.

And Chris, he really just feels like kicking himself. He is the shittiest friend/helper in the universe. Who lets the person they’re supposed to be keeping an eye on run free for almost two hours? This is why he's forever dumbfounded by the fact that his dog is so well-behaved.

Three minutes and a heavy dose of self-critique later, Chris finally realizes that _Ya were ath he back_ translates to _yeah, we’re at the back_ , and he pushes himself all the way to the back of the bar into the outside patio, where an impressive amount of people have pressed themselves onto the large balcony. Sebastian is standing there, beautiful and genuine and close to the railing, lips wrapped expertly around the light orange filter of a cigarette.

God damn it.

Chris weaves through the people, determined to actually do the job that was requested of him in the first place. When he reaches him, Sebastian turns, his face lighting up with a child-like excitement that overwhelms his entire body.

“Chris!” he coos, “Chris--yer here!”

The cigarette dangles loosely in his hand, fingers draped over it elegantly.

“Hey, bud.”

He’s about to launch into being helpful when Sebastian reels him into a sloppy half hug, their cheeks pressing together gently as he says to anyone who will listen: “Chris’s— _guys_ Chris’s m’favorite hum’n being in the whole world!”

A surprising amount of people nod their greeting toward him, still pressed against Sebastian like a teddy bear. “Hello,” he mutters awkwardly, relieved when their audience goes back to their own conversations. Then he turns back to his friend. “Where’d you get that cigarette, bud?”

Sebastian’s look of pure excitement whittles down to one of deep concentration. “Uh…” he mutters before taking a drag from the topic in question. Chris’s patience pays off when he finally allows the smoke to billow out from his mouth, licking his bottom lip distractingly. “Craig.”

Chris tries not to get stuck on Sebastian’s mouth. How full and red and plump his lips are as they wrap around the filter. “Who’s Craig?” He gets some sort of noncommittal answer into the ground, so he tries again. “Where is he?”

“Getting drinks.” He’s quick with that one—knows exactly what’s going on because what exactly is going on is that he’s getting more alcohol, and he’s got a cigarette, and he’s got Chris. And he’s happy as a cat in cream about it.

But Chris is concerned. Because judging by the cigarette and the state that Seb is already in, he can only assume that these drinks have been and will be some type of vodka. “You told me you shouldn’t be smoking.”

Sebastian waves that off like it’s just another cloud of smoke from his lungs. “Nah, m’fine. One’s fine.”

Chris isn’t convinced. “Are you sure?”

“Mhm. Only one, I promise.” Seb flashes him this cute little half smile, the one that breaks Chris’s resolve whether he knows it or not. “Promise.”

Yes…it’s definitely breaking his resolve. But—“Wanna come back inside with me?”

It’s like he asked him if he wanted to lay down and play with a million adorable puppies, the way Sebastian gets so excited. “Yeah! Yeah yeah I do. Lemme finish m’smoke first.” It’s like he’s completely forgotten about whoever the hell Craig-the-cigarette-dealer is, that he’s on his way back with drinks for both of them, and something about that strokes Chris’s ego a bit. “Lemme— ‘ll meetya in there.”

Chris raises an eyebrow at him. Doubtfully.

“No no I will I’ll—Chris ‘ll see ya in like two minutes tops.”

It’s an honest proposal, and Chris supposes he understands not wanting to waste a cigarette after not having one for so long, so he nods, holding Sebastian’s shoulders and steadying him so their eyes meet. “Okay. Two minutes. If you’re not in there in two minutes, I’m coming back out for you.”

Sebastian grins, running his tongue over his bottom lip again. “’kay.”

Chris passes someone with two drinks in their hands as he leaves, and he tells himself it’s not Craig-the-cigarette-dealer.

Two minutes.

Fifteen minutes later (as if he didn’t deep down inside know that this was going to happen), Chris finds himself stepping back through to the patio, ready for some good old fashion Seb-wrangling. He’ll get him back to the table, he’ll get him some water, Sebastian will calm down, and everything will be alright.

Except everything’s not alright. It’s not. Because Sebastian is still standing where he was before, but he’s not alone. It’s the guy that Chris passed on his way out, the one with the drinks. That _was_ actually Craig-the-cigarette-dealer. And he supposes he could make peace with that if it wasn’t for the way this guy produces another cigarette out of thin air, placing it between Sebastian’s lips in a manner that doesn’t strike Chris as simply friendly. And when this guy flicks fire out of his lighter, and when Sebastian cups his hand over his and brings the end of his cigarette to the flame and hollows his cheeks, and when the smoke curls out of his mouth and is replaced by this guy’s lips, tongue prying smoothly into his mouth, Chris freezes.

It’s like it’s slow motion. And he’s just standing there, watching as Sebastian licks warmly into his mouth, tongue slick and lips red and…

Chris forces himself to move. Forces himself to bite down that tightening in his chest and also the embarrassing tightening in his jeans. Forces himself to walk straight over to them, catching them in between kisses.

Sebastian lights up when he sees him. Like everything is normal. Like he didn’t just have his tongue down some random person’s throat and vice versa. “Hey!”

Chris slaps on his best unaffected grin, not even looking at Craig-the-cigarette-dealer.

Then Sebastian’s face falls. “Crap, s’been two minutes?”

“Fifteen, actually.”

Sebastian glances around like he has no grasp on how this could have possibly happened. “Whoa that’s—s’longest two minutes ever.”

“Do you mean the shortest?”

“…yes.”

Chris skillfully takes the half-empty drink from his hand, pretty sure that Sebastian doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. And yeah, that’s vodka. “Let’s go inside.”

“But—”

“I think it’d be a good idea.”

Sebastian looks distraught, glancing conflictingly between Chris and his newly lit cigarette. Like those are the only two things in the world that he has to pick from. Like this Craig guy that he’d just been kissing isn’t even ranked in his mental list of important things. And that’s one more check mark across Chris’s ego scoreboard.

When Sebastian really looks like he’s about to bust something trying to make a decision, Chris gently grabs his wrist. “C’mere,” he says kindly, pulling him away from the railing and Craig.

Sebastian follows without hesitation, like he’d follow him to the ends of the Earth if he could, especially if he gets to keep his cigarette.

Chris deposits the forgotten glass on a nearby table, then turns so he’s face to face with Sebastian. “Wanna know a secret?” he says, voice low as he pulls Sebastian, with both hands now, maybe a little closer than necessary.

And holy shit, does Seb really want to know what the fuck this secret could possibly be. “Yes. Yeah what is it?”

Chris smiles at him, warm and with ease because if he could smile like this with him every day and not slip his secret, not have his complete adoration for this man recognized, he would. And maybe it’s a little bit of his own buzz that he’s got working, but he smiles, warm and kind, bringing Sebastian’s hand up in between them and plucking the cigarette from it as he says, “I really miss you in there.”

Sebastian’s eyes are on him, not even noticing when his once-prized possession is taken away from him. Instead, he’s just in awe. “You do?”

“Yeah.”

“You miss me?”

“Mhm.”

Blue eyes search his, seeking something to latch onto. “W-…Iwanna be with you.”

Chris discreetly drops the cigarette beside them, crushing it out with his foot without breaking eye contact. He’s never seen Sebastian like this, all out in the open and unashamed of himself—what he’s feeling. Loosened with liquor until he's nothing but a stream of his own consciousness.  “Want to come inside?”

“You--…uh…”

There’s a lot of concentration there, a sort of deliberate focus that only comes from a mind that’s reeling on alcohol. Chris sympathizes—makes it easier for him. “Want me to take you home?”

Sebastian stares at him, eyes wide and innocent and everything Chris admires about him. “Yeah.”

“You do?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Chris turns, hand still circled fondly around his friend’s wrist as he leads him back through the sea of people. They’re halfway through the inside of the bar, thick with music and chatter, when Sebastian slips his wrist out of the grasp, preferring instead to hold onto Chris’s hand.

Chris tries not to let it affect him. Tries not to memorize the feeling of those thin fingers lacing with his. It doesn’t work.

They pass the table that Anthony and everyone is still sitting at, Chris nodding to him, and Anthony just looks and doesn’t say anything, just nods back all friendly.

They catch a cab back to the hotel that everyone is holed up in for the remainder of the shoot. They hold hands in the lobby. They hold hands in the elevator. It takes Sebastian a full minute to get his wallet out of his back pocket and produce the room key, dropping it twice before Chris elects to be in charge of holding it. He gets Sebastian through the door and into bed at a speed that he thinks deserves a pat on the back, especially with the added task of getting his hand free from his friend’s clutches. For such a normal sized dude, he’s sure got a firm grip.

Sebastian falls asleep somewhere between the minute it takes Chris to fill two glasses of water and put them beside the bed, his face sweet and calm. Chris fights the urge to stay, to cuddle up to his side and protect him like a mother lion does to her cub.

After that thought, he decides that he could use some water and sleep himself.

 

* * *

 

 

Sebastian’s hair is quite a mess the next morning, making the hair-and-makeup people work for their money. Chris isn’t that bad, just dark circles beneath his eyes from his fitful half-drunk sleep.

It had been an ordeal, trying to relax enough to fall asleep with all of the night’s shenanigans still running through his head like a film reel. The sweet, consistently gorgeous look on Sebastian’s face. The feeling of his fingers lacing with his own, warm and loving. His voice, gravely but loose with liquid courage. “I wanna be with you.”

How the hell is Chris supposed to sleep with all of that in his brain? How is he supposed to function like a normal human being with all these fresh reasons to pine over his friend?

He’s not entirely sure. All he knows is he needs to get his shit together. Be a grown up for Christ’s sake.

It’s increasingly hard when he finally makes his way into the costuming tent, letting everyone fuss over all the little buttons and zippers and everything on his Cap suit. Sebastian is already there, eyes half-lidded and tired as the team applies a comical amount of lube to his arm, prepping him for the metal sleeve.

Chris doesn’t notice it at first, but when he does, he’s first and foremost confused. Because there’s Craig-the-cigarette-dealer, crouching next to Sebastian, gloved-hand slick with the lubrication that he and the others are applying.

What the fuck? Has he always worked here? Chris tries his damnedest to remember, confused as to how he missed it before. And now, the way he’s saying all of these not-so-subtle innuendos as he slathers up Sebastian’s arm… And Sebastian is tired, but mostly he’s confused, raising an eyebrow and answering with a strained chuckle with every inappropriate comment, like he has no idea where this is coming from.

It sets Chris’s blood on fire. This should be sexual harassment. But Seb is too nice, too eager to please. And all Chris can think about now is the image of Seb's tongue slipping into this guy’s mouth. It does wonders for his desire to get out of the costuming tent.

They actually end up leaving at the same time, in full gear, which is a scene all in itself.

“What the hell’s up with Craig?” Sebastian asks once they’re out of earshot, strained but honestly curious as he walks beside him. 

Chris blinks. Why is Craig flirting with him? Probably because of—“You don’t remember?”

Sebastian stares, face beginning to fall into concern. “What?”

There’s this tiny part of him that considers not telling him, but another part of him is curious as to what else his friend doesn’t remember. So Chris decides to just go out and say it. “You uh…you definitely made out with him last night.”

That stops Sebastian in his tracks, brow furrowing in dismay. “ _What?”_

Chris has to stop walking, now realizing that his friend is a few steps behind him. “Uh…yeah.”

“Why the _fuck_ would I make out with him?” He’s not mad—just confused, maybe a little shocked.

Chris thrums his fingers against his thighs, the heavy material of his costume blocking out much of the sensation. “Might have been the cigarettes he was giving you.”

Sebastian’s eyes squeeze shut in what looks like a hearty mixture of mortification and regret. “Jesus...”

Chris wonders how many times that expression has danced across Seb’s face. How many times his questionable actions from the night before have been recounted for him.

“I tried to stop you,” he offers, but it feels like he’s trying to convince himself more than Sebastian. There’s still that overwhelming sense of guilt from letting him run off for two hours and get his hands on more alcohol and cigarettes than originally planned. “How much do you remember, exactly?”

“It’s coming back,” Sebastian groans. “Slowly but shitty.”

Chris nods, bringing his bottom lip in and worrying at it in thought. Then, in an attempt to lighten the mood, he speaks again, smile warm and teasing. “You told a bunch of strangers that I’m your favorite human being.”

Sebastian runs a hand over his face, mortification fresh again. “Jesus Christ. Who _says_ that?” There’s the slightest pink rising in his cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

But Chris is smiling--a sort of teasing, adoring smile. “Nah. I’d be insulted if I wasn’t your favorite human being.”

That pulls a laugh out of Seb, who just shakes his head, mumbling frailly, “I’m such a disaster.”

Chris wants to say 'You’re my favorite disaster.' But he doesn’t. Because that would be monumentally strange, right? So instead he decides to form his own apology. “It wasn’t your fault. I was the worst babysitter ever last night.”

Sebastian looks like he’s about to protest, like he’s about to say that he should be able to handle his own shit, but Chris doesn’t let him.

“We’ll do better next time.” He adds a confident little smirk, and it must work even a little, because Sebastian returns it.

He doesn’t ask if he remembers hanging all over him. He doesn’t ask if he remembers holding his hand while they walked. He doesn’t ask if he remembers telling him that he wants to be with him.

 

* * *

 

 

They have another crack at this whole let’s-not-make-awful-decisions thing about a week later. Mackie decides that there’s no time like the present to get shit-faced, and they accept the invitation. They have every intention to get that healthy buzz going, nice and quick and lovely enough to feel as they walk and the room sways maybe a little too much but it’s okay because they’ve got this under control.

Sebastian doesn’t leave Chris’s side, glued there as soon as a couple of drinks have settled into him, making him loose and carefree like before, all smiles and blushy cheeks and lovely, shimmering ocean-eyes.

Soon, enough drinks have made their way between them and Sebastian drags his teeth over his own bottom lip, eyes scanning over the crowd. “I need a smoke.”

That red flag waves in Chris’s brain. He knows what that leads to. “How ‘bout something to eat instead?”

This petulant little groan escapes from the back of Sebastian’s throat, his mouth twisting in dissatisfaction.  “…s’fine.”

Chris takes a drink--ignores the urge to kiss that pout right off of his mouth. But it’s hard. It’s really hard. And he’s had a few too many detailed dreams lately that are surfacing in his memory at precisely the wrong time. So he has another drink. And another. But he keeps an eye on Sebastian and counts his drinks because he’s not going to fuck up this time, damn it.

The night plays on, Seb’s knee pressed against his like a fucking prayer.

“I wanna dance,” Seb mumbles almost to himself, glancing over at the group of moving bodies not too far away.

Chris glances up. “Go dance, then.”

Sebastian swallows, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip as he continues to watch. And Chris knows it’s subconscious, but he kind of just wishes he’d stop doing it because it’s making it really hard to keep his hands to himself.

“You’re not gonna come, are you?” Sebastian asks without looking because he already knows the answer.

Chris twirls his glass slowly, watching the amber liquid spin against itself. “I will in a bit.”

Sebastian smiles lazily at him, like he can see straight through him and into his very soul. “I’ll look for you.”

And then he’s gone…and…

Chris doesn’t stare after him. Doesn’t try to decipher what that means. Definitely doesn’t admire how his ass looks in those jeans.

Except he does. He does all of that. And then some. Until he’s well and truly fucked and downing the rest of his drink in one go.

It doesn’t take long for a replacement to be slid in front of him and he takes it with little thought.

The music that pumps through the entire building is loud--smooth but filthy with a bass that thumps against your heart no matter where you stand, and Chris can’t help but scan the crowd for his friend’s face. That charming, adorable smile that lights up the entire room and draws attention like bees to honey.

They lost Anthony more than an hour ago, so it’s just Chris sitting there, getting hot and bothered by himself as he downs drink after drink. Because Sebastian is fine out there dancing, enjoying himself. There’s nothing he needs to worry about with that.

When God knows how many drinks have been handed to him and he realizes he can’t properly read the labels on the bottles across the bar, he knows enough that it’s time to go. Standing up is a trip, though, the floor becoming a sneaky bastard and moving out from under him for a second before he steadies himself.

Yep. Definitely time to go.

The mass of moving bodies blurs together as he inserts himself into it, doing his best to spot Sebastian. It takes a considerable amount of time and let’s be honest, he misses a lot. He misses all the fiery, passionate looks being sent his way. He just misses Sebastian at least once, only one person between them but he still misses him. But most of all, and most importantly, he misses the server weaving in and out of the crowd, tray held above her head filled with empty shot glasses that were once overflowing with Smirnoff.

It’s dark and it takes fucking forever, but finally Chris finds Sebastian, all wide smiles and liquid smooth hips. When he tilts his head toward him, and when their eyes connect, alight and blurry with alcohol, Sebastian grins, dirty and smooth.

“Mmm…Chris,” he nearly fucking _purrs_ , and then reaches out, both hands resting on the sides of Chris’s neck and pulling him down and against his lips, open-mouthed and fiery hot.

Chris falters, caught between this hazy in-between where he doesn’t know if he’s awake or passed out drunk and dreaming but--

Sebastian presses against him, warm and wired and wanting, tongue moving like liquid-silk against Chris’s and _moaning_ and holy shit.

Chris’s body reacts—he reacts—because he’s been sitting on the sidelines for years trying to suppress all of these feelings and desires and god damn him if he isn’t going to milk this for all it’s worth, dream or not.

Sebastian sinks his teeth teasingly into Chris’s bottom lip, pulling at it and then sucking lightly and then, all rushed out at once, “Iwantyou.”

Chris blanks, blood rushing to his face and down lower and everything just sort of runs into itself after that; strange, colorless snippets of time that burn into his brain like the negative of a photograph: stumbling out onto the pavement, warm night air, walking walking walking until it’s carpet not pavement and it’s air conditioning not warm night air and it’s Sebastian’s hands on his belt--on his cock--on his entire fucking body and they’re simultaneously moving so fast and so slow, a nuclear explosion of sensation behind his eyelids and then there’s nothing.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s quiet.

It’s dead silent except for the light, breathy snore near his ear.

Chris’s eyes crack open. The sunlight streaming through the slotted shades drawn over his hotel window hits his skin like fire. He’s so hungover, head splitting open.

And then he really wakes up.

Because there’s Seb, just inches from him on the other side of the bed, one arm sprawled above his head on the pillow and the other tucked neatly at his side.

Chris doesn’t have the strength to panic, instead opting to let his head sink back into the pillow, trying very hard not to think about how they’re both naked.

What the fuck? He doesn’t even remember how they got back to his hotel room, let alone what they may or may not have done.

He chances another look at Sebastian, at how his hair falls into this stupidly graceful wave across his face, the way his bare chest rises and falls gently and the startling pool of dried come just a little lower. Fuck.

“Seb,” he tries, but his voice is raw and cracks from underuse and the previous assault of alcohol. “Seb.”

“Mmnng.”

“ _Seb_.”

A frustrated huff sounds from next to him, then Sebastian finally turns his head toward the voice, his eyes opening slowly to adjust to the light filtering in.

For a moment he simply stares at Chris, blue against blue, and then it looks like he really wakes up. Because his face is draining of color, the realization hitting him fast and hard.

“Fuck,” he breathes out. Then he sits up, eyes squeezing shut in this unreadable expression as his fingers brush over the dried come on his stomach, “Oh--… _fuck._ Oh my God.”

Chris tries to say something, tries to offer some sort of explanation as to why they’re here like this and why his come is all over his stomach, but he has none.

And Sebastian sits there, gears turning in his head as he glances back at him, brow furrowed in worry and voice cracking. “Oh God, I’m sorry,” he says and it’s not frantic but it’s very very anxious. “I’m so sorry, Chris.”

And Chris expects a lot of things. He expects confusion. He expects anger. But the last thing he expects is an apology. Like all of this is Seb’s fault. Like he’s the only one who got drunk. Like he’s the only one that decided to do…whatever it is they did in its entirety.

Sebastian leans over the bed, no doubt searching for his clothes, still cursing at himself as he winces. “What time is it?”

Chris eyes the clock on the wall, waiting to set out to find his clothes. “1:20.”

1:20. It’s in the middle of the fucking afternoon and Chris Evans and Sebastian Stan are naked, rummaging around for the clothes that they don’t remember taking off.

Sebastian swears again, jumping up and down and wiggling a little in attempt to pull his stupidly-tight jeans up over his hips as he faces away from him. Chris forces himself not to look. And everything is just so cripplingly awkward that he’s not sure what he can even say at this point.

“Did we…” he starts, feeling monumentally uncomfortable, because how do you ask your friend if you fucked last night?

And Sebastian winces, a small, telltale hitch in his stride as he hobbles over to the other side of the room where his shirt somehow ended up draped over the dresser. “Yep.” Like he knows exactly what the morning-after feels like. Like he’s 100% aware that the hitch in his stride is from having a dick inside him last night.

Chris falls back down against the pillow, running both hands over his face as he sighs. How could this have happened?

Sebastian is fully dressed in no time, all of his necessities gathered and stuffed into his pockets. But he won’t look at Chris. And he just looks super _super_ guilty.

Chris wants to talk to him. Wants to sort this all out—fuck, maybe even make a timeline of things they remember before ending up in bed together. Wants to tell him that it hurts to watch him slink around the room like a kicked puppy.

But Seb’s out the door without another word.

 

* * *

 

 

The next two days are scheduled as off days. Everyone’s been busting their asses to get this film shot just the way it needs to be, and they deserve some rest. It should be a good thing, having time off. And it is.

Except it’s not really. For Chris, at least.

Because two days off means having two days where he doesn’t need to be anywhere. Two days off means not being expected to do anything and then he’s just sitting there saying he’s going to go out and do something but he never actually does.

Two days off means sitting there and trying not to think about Sebastian and what happened and the fact that he hasn’t tried to make contact with him since leaving yesterday morning.

Scarlett and Anthony all but drag him out to a late lunch at this quaint little café that they can walk to a few blocks down. He orders himself this weird panini thing and saves half of it so he doesn’t have to go out for dinner later too. It only takes a few minutes for the three of them to get recognized--Scarlett first, then Chris and Anthony quickly getting wrangled into signing a slew of autographs until they’re doing that instead of actually eating. And Chris has got a little too much anxiety for this sort of thing, so he manages to weasel out of the situation, heading back to the quiet security of his hotel room.

The rest of the night plays out like the night before does: rest, catch up on emails, worry about the thing with Sebastian, tune into whatever is flickering on the TV by the door, call his mother, consider calling Sebastian too, eat whatever is readily available, worry some more about the thing with Sebastian, repeat. It’s somehow more exhausting than a day on set, and that worries him.

It’s not that he regrets what happened—not at all. In fact, there’s that tiny thing inside himself that ignites at the very thought… _I slept with him. I slept with Seb_. And it’s not the he regrets it, there’s just this endless desire to punch himself in the face because this was not the way to do it. If he wants to sleep with him, and Jesus fucking Christ is that accurate, he wants to remember it—to recall more than one or two instances of skin against skin and maybe maybe _maybe_ a split second of Sebastian’s warm mouth around him. But he doesn’t. Because he had to go and get shitfaced first.

Chris groans, digging the heels of his hands against his eyes. And now he’s swiftly on his way to getting a hard-on from just thinking about it. God damn it all.

He pulls his laptop out again, making sure no one important has left him any emails or anything, all the while condemning himself for his stupid decisions. He’s the one who’s supposed to have his shit together. He doesn’t even know what the hell kind of bad decisions Seb made to prompt him to elect Chris as his babysitter, but they probably weren’t as bad as this.

That thought sticks nice and deep in his brain as he checks the messages. Then when he’s watching the movie that’s playing on the TV. Then all through his shower. Then for a while after that.

He knows it’s weird, pulling his laptop back into view. It’s weird and who does this sort of thing? But he opens Google regardless, fingers heavy as he types into the search bar: _Sebastian Stan d_ (the first three recommended fill-ins are _Sebastian Stan drugs, Sebastian Stan drunk,_ and _Sebastian Stan drunk selfies_ , which is pretty alarming).

Drugs? Further research tells Chris that such a fill-in is there because one of the roles he played—Jesus, he was in something with Sigourney Weaver??—was a politician’s son who also happened to be an addict (there are plenty of .gifs of Sebastian pretending to snort lines of cocaine as evidence).

With that unexpected detour finished, Chris goes back to his original search, feeling supremely creepy as his screen is filled with line after line of pictures of Sebastian…all drunk. Many are pretty amusing, Seb pulling faces that only come out when he’s been loosened with liquor—scrunched eyes and white teeth and ridiculous pouty lips. He recognizes some of the people that are posed next to him, that one Chace guy and one of the ladies from Gossip Girl, all just as happy but immeasurable to Sebastian’s pure delight. Chris can’t help but smile just a little, the grins that stare back at him as he scrolls quickly becoming contagious. And yeah, there are a few candid shots of Seb, unaware and in his own mind, looking like the very embodiment of sex, and yeah…Chris supposes he shouldn’t look at those too long, but…

He doesn’t understand what all the uproar is about until he reaches an extensive list of selfies that were taken back-to-back—all featuring Sebastian, who’s hair is significantly lighter and shorter, and some other guy who is pretty adorable himself, if Chris was into that sort of thing. They’re funny, a different stupid face for each snapshot, but they get progressively raunchier, and Seb and this guy get progressively closer, and Chris finds it progressively more difficult to justify the closeness and awkward sort of intimacy that floats between—

A loud knock at his hotel door scares Chris half to death, his heart spiking through his stomach and hands scrambling desperately to click out of the internet like he’s been caught watching some sort of excessively outlandish porn.

Several seconds are devoted to doing anything that will help Chris’s heart stop pounding, including but not limited to taking a deep breath and dragging a hand over his face as he sets his laptop on the side table. The last thing he needs is for Anthony to give him shit about looking like a spooked animal when he comes to the door. He’s already teased him enough about an assortment of things today.

Chris takes one more breath before loosening the sliding chain lock and opening his door.

It’s not Anthony.

“Oh,” Chris blurts out before he can reach and snatch the words out of the air. And clearly it’s not what his visitor wants to hear. The need to back-pedal surges through his veins. “I mean hey. What’s up?”

Chris’s complete jump from being caught off guard to overly cautious has Sebastian frowning in his doorway. “Uh…bad time?”

“No,” Chris is blurting things out again, barely letting the previous question squeak by as he barrels headfirst. “No. I thought you were Anthony.”

Sebastian nods, his smile barren and without amusement as he gestures plainly at himself. “Not him.”

“No.”

Chris curses himself—curses the thought that this is the first time things have ever been weird between them, that fact making it difficult to proceed.

“Can we talk?” Sebastian asks after a heavy length of awkward silence.

It’s enough for Chris’s stomach to turn itself inside out, a flutter of nerves and emotion and so much worry that this is it—Sebastian hates him now.  They both fucked up and they slept together and now things are going to be monumentally uncomfortable.

And Chris is just standing there, one hand propping himself up on the doorway as his thoughts carry him away. So Sebastian proceeds without him. “I’ve been thinking. About before.”

 _Before_.

Chris swallows roughly, too occupied with his anxiety to realize that Sebastian is still technically in the hallway, still technically where everyone can see and hear him. Not exactly the ideal place for their discussion.

But Sebastian keeps going anyway, albeit a touch uncomfortable now. “Do you…remember much?”

And that’s the icing on this shitstorm of a cake. He _doesn’t._ And it kills him. “No. Not really.”

Sebastian nods, eyes falling to just past Chris’s shoulder, now seemingly lost in his own thoughts. “I don’t either.”

That settles between them, and neither of them seem to know how to proceed—how to move on. They fucked but they don’t remember it. Done. End of story.

But then Seb says: “I want to, though.”

And it feels like the ground is moving under Chris’s feet. And before he can stop himself, he says: “You want to _what?”_

Footsteps approach them and then disappear as a woman in heels and a pantsuit passes behind Sebastian, who is waiting—waiting for her to leave so he can not meet Chris’s eyes when he says: “I want to remember.”

It’s fragile but it’s heated at the same time, an impossibly tall order to fill, and it’s got Chris tongue-tied. Because _yes. Yes_ , he wants to remember too. So badly it hurts. And…

“Do you remember anything at all?” Sebastian asks, eyes true and almost-innocent as they glance up at him.

And yes, Chris remembers being out for drinks. Remembers Sebastian’s pout as he gazed longingly at the group of people dancing. Remembers the heat rising in his cheeks as he watched him saunter away—tight pants and firm ass. Remembers finding him in the group of strangers and how Sebastian reached out for him and—

“We made out.”

Something dark and heated flashes in Sebastian’s eyes. Arousal. Maybe recollection. “We did?”

“Yeah.”

“Show me.”

Chris’s heart is in his throat, ears ringing like he needs to shake his head and ask for him to repeat himself because did he just ask him to… “Have you been drinking?”

It’s not a snide comment. He’s not being a jerk. He just honestly wants to know if this is real or not. And Seb gets it, his voice small and surprisingly nervous, like he can’t actually believe he’s here doing this either. “Not a drop.”

Chris watches him—knows it’s true— _knew_ it was true, just wants to make sure that this is happening and they’re both aware of themselves.

And Sebastian smirks, just a little, his voice like silk as he repeats himself. “Show me.”

Chris’s body moves before he tells it to, hands coming up to rest on the sides of Seb’s neck as he leans in, so fucking close, and brushes their lips together. Sebastian’s eyes flutter closed, breathing deep, and Chris thinks he remembers that—that feeling of warm breath as they part and then come back together, lips slotting together, and before he can register what’s happening, Sebastian is licking into his mouth, warm and gentle.

Chris’s heart pounds loud in his ears, Seb’s hands grabbing smoothly at his waist. And that’s when that tiny part of his brain that’s not otherwise engaged with committing this to memory realizes that they’re still halfway in the hallway. Out in the open. Where anyone can walk passed.

Sebastian pushes into him, a little rougher than necessary but it’s good and they’re still kissing, and he pushes them all the way back until they’ve both passed through the doorway. And there’s something about the roughness--the honest, frenzied, _mad_ desire about all of it. It ignites fire through Chris’s veins and he kicks the door shut behind Seb, barely giving it enough time to close before he pushes Seb back, hard up against the door.

Sebastian slams into it with a groan, but it’s a groan that’s dripping with more pleasure than hurt, and it works its way down into Chris’s pants without even trying.  And Sebastian must feel it too, that wild, unexplainable heat, because he bites at Chris’s bottom lip, tugging at it between his teeth, and: “I remember—“ he breathes out, hot hot _hot_ against his mouth, “--your cock in my mouth.”

And _mother of god_ if that isn’t the sexiest thing Chris has ever heard in his life, and, “Yeah…” which means ‘I remember that too’, because he does. Just barely. The warmth of Sebastian’s mouth around him…

“Can I?”

And Chris doesn’t even know why Sebastian feels the need to fucking ask because: “God, yes.”

It’s all Seb needs, all the confirmation he wants before he drops down to his knees, beautiful, nimble fingers popping open the button on Chris’s pants before he drags it all down—jeans, boxers, _everything_ —and he doesn’t even hesitate before taking him—already so hard--deep into his mouth.

Chris’s legs damn near give out at the feeling, the goddamn sight of Seb on his knees in front of him, mouth wrapped expertly around his cock and _yeah_ , he definitely remembers a little of that. “Oh fuck…”

Sebastian’s eyes flutter closed again, like he’s savoring it, like he’s doing his best to commit this to memory, a tiny whine spilling from him as Chris’s dick nudges the back of his throat.

“Jesus,” Chris pants, struggling to keep it together, but it’s all just so much so quickly and it feels absolutely phenomenal but he needs a second. “Wait,” he hates to say it—hates to gently nudge Sebastian back until he slides completely off, his dick hard and now chilled by the air and his spit.

And Sebastian looks like he’s done something horribly, horribly wrong, eyes wide and innocent and unsure.

But Chris beats him to it. Shakes his head. Grabs his hands and pulls him up so he’s standing too and says, “Just need a sec.” He wants to add ‘Don’t wanna embarrass myself’ but he doesn’t.

Sebastian swallows, his tongue running over his impossibly red lips, and Chris knows exactly how they got that way.

“C’mere,” he says once he’s stepped out of his jeans entirely, pulling Seb towards the bed before the backs of his legs hit the mattress and he sits.

Sebastian looks down at him, still breathing heavy from his previous actions as he comes to a halt between Chris’s legs once again, this time standing. And for some stupid reason he just looks so young and so innocent and Chris wants to ruin him in the best way. But not yet. Because now he hooks his fingers in the hem of Seb’s shirt and pulls it off of him, instead opting to lean forward, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses across Seb’s chest, his abs, low along the waist line of his jeans.

Sebastian breathes out slowly, a quiet, keening noise slipping past his lips as Chris moves lower, lower, lower. And Chris can tell just how hard the man in front of him is trying to keep it together—can tell by the impressive strain against his jeans. So he moves his hand up, palming Seb through his pants, earning a ridiculously delicious moan. Sebastian bucks forward, muttering something that Chris is not entirely sure is in English.

And then Sebastian reaches down, drawing Chris’s shirt over his head until he’s completely naked in front of him, not wasting any time to greedily take in the sight. But Chris will not be outdone, and he proves it, unbuckling Seb’s belt and ripping it out of the belt loops so quickly that Seb’s hips twist to the side with it, an incredible display of pale skin and lovely muscles and _Christ_ does Chris want to see all of him. His fingers unbutton and unzip and pull and Sebastian steps out of his jeans and Chris can’t fathom for a second not being able to remember this.

“Lie back,” Seb says lowly, and Chris doesn’t have to be told twice, scooting up until his head hits the pillow. Sebastian crawls over him, graceful and lean like a panther or a cheetah or whatever the fuck. “Remember?”

Chris tries. He tries really hard. But the specifics of their previous night are so blurry, even when he squints. And he definitely thinks he would recall the sensation of Sebastian rolling his hips against him like this. So, “Remind me.”

Sebastian smirks. He probably doesn’t remember it either. But the _challenge…_ Yeah, Chris can tell that he likes that. His lips are soft and wet and hot as he kisses down Chris’s neck, down his chest, down the impressive curves of his abs until they wrap around his cock again, hungry and determined. Chris groans, his hands immediately fisting into Seb’s hair before he can stop himself. Then he realizes he’s pushing. He drags his hands away, terrified that he’s pushed too far. But then Sebastian grabs blindly, searching for one of his hands, and brings it back, their fingers lacing together as he presses Chris’s hand against the back of his head. Like he wants it. Like he wants to be controlled a little. Like he wants it a little rough as he sucks Chris’s dick.

Chris’s head collapses back against the pillow. Holy shit. Is Sebastian even real?

He asks himself the same question as Seb sucks, hot and tight and then flicks his tongue out, eyes locked onto Chris’s as he licks slowly up the length of his cock.

“Fuck.”

“So hot,” Sebastian mutters at the same time and it may be to himself, but they can both hear it. “Need you inside me.”

Chris blanks. Doesn’t think he heard him right. Says probably the last thing Sebastian wants to hear, which is: “Huh?”

It’s not sexy and it’s a little frantic, but Seb doesn’t appear any less turned on by it, stroking Chris’s dick in his hand as he bites his lip, voice barely a whine. “Need you, Chris,” he says, and he can definitely hear him now, “Want you to fuck me…”

Yeah, he can definitely hear him. “Uh…” he says but it comes out more as a moan. Because he’s never done that. Well, okay, obviously he’s done it _once_ but he was so far gone that he has no idea what he did. “Uh…I haven’t—”

“..’ll do it,” Seb interrupts, and it’s just now that Chris realizes that he’s not only jerking Chris off, but he’s got a hand on himself as well. “Lemme…hnng, fuck…”

And then he’s breaking away, leaning over the edge of the bed and rummaging through his jeans pocket before resurfacing, throwing condoms and lube on the bed and that messes with Chris so bad. Because that means Sebastian came here with that stuff—came here, to him, knowing that they might actually fuck—made the conscious decision to prepare because he obviously wants this. And Jesus Christ, does Chris want it too.

“Uh,” he mumbles again (so fucking poetic tonight), picking up one of the packets of lube and staring at it, clearly out of his element.

But Seb snatches it from him. “S’fine, I got it,” he nearly snaps, planting a kiss on Chris’s lips before tearing at the plastic wrapper of the lube with his teeth, and that’s…yeah that might be one of the sexiest things Chris has ever seen.

“WhatdoI—“ Chris tries, but then Seb’s mouth is on him again and fuck yes, that feels amazing.

He can’t see very well from this angle, but he assumes that the wrapper crinkling means Seb is lubing up his own finger…fingers? He wants to watch, wants to see what’s happening, but—

“Oooh, fuck…” Sebastian moans, mouth now free as he reaches around himself. His eyes are squeezed shut and there seems to be some sort of resistance and Chris doesn’t know what to do but, “Fuck. God, you’re gonna feel so good…”

And yeah, he supposes the only thing he has to worry about now is coming just from watching Seb finger himself. Did he do this the night they were drunk? Did he take care of himself or did Chris do it? Either option puts so many interesting images in his head that he loses time, somehow zones out long enough that Sebastian has made his way back up to him and is kissing him, voice low and husky as he mutters, “Ready for you, baby.”

And it throws Chris. The nickname. The fact that Seb just prepped himself so Chris can fuck him. How’d they get to this point? How’d this all come down to—

“Chris.” Sebastian whines, pulling at his bottom lip again, and then Chris times back in, fucking ready.

He growls-- _growls--a_ nd flips them until he towers over Sebastian, grabbing under his thighs to pull him up closer, Seb’s ass pressed firmly against him. And he looks so beautiful like this under him. Sweaty and open and ready to go.

But. He doesn’t remember. This is still more or less new. And he doesn’t want to hurt him so… “Can I just…”

Sebastian groans, wiggles his hips down, impatient and stunning. “ _Fuck_ me, Chris.”

That’s all he needs. All Sebastian needs. And Chris presses forward, pushes against Seb’s entrance slowly until his cock is buried deep inside him and _fuck. Fuck._

Sebastian’s mouth drops open, the moan that escapes him sounding liquid-smooth, and Chris wants to turn it rough—jagged. And holy shit.

“Fuck, Seb…”

Sebastian wraps his legs around him, pulling Chris into him impossibly deeper. “God…”

Chris pulls back, pushes in again--a steady, toe-curling speed that’s got Seb writhing beneath him for more. Harder. Faster. He picks up speed, the friction and warmth and astounding tightness all working against him in the best way, his head hanging low because it’s suddenly so hard to hold himself up with Sebastian grinding back down onto his dick like that.

“Fuck,” Seb moans, rolling his hips downward and reaching up to thread his fingers through Chris’s hair. “C’mon.” It’s a challenge. A challenge that Chris is eager to meet.

He picks up speed, driving home deep and hard until Sebastian cries out, fingers clutching desperately in his hair, in the sheets, at Chris’s ass.

And Chris doesn’t know how he could have possibly forgotten this. Sebastian. Sweaty and skin on fire and eyes either squeezed shut or pouring into his and asking for more, asking for as much as Chris can give him. He doesn’t understand how he could have forgotten the feeling of Seb opening up for him, still heartbreakingly tight and warm and beautiful and perfect and _fuck_ , he must have drank an entire ocean of scotch to have forgotten this.

Sebastian keens, says a bunch of shit that’s definitely not English but it’s breathy and hot and exotic and Chris leans down to swallow those words, licking into his mouth as he does his best to commit every single thing about this night to memory.

Chris is close to coming before he realizes it, warmth pooling low in his belly and Sebastian looks up at him like Chris is his everything--his fucking savior. And it’s-- “Shit, I’m close--…” Chris hears himself blurt out, and it lights a fire in Seb’s eyes.

“C’mon,” Seb almost cries, “C’mon Chris. Come in me, baby.”

And that hits Chris so goddamn hard—all of it—that he’s losing himself and coming, his orgasm sneaking up on him but atrociously beautiful all the same. His mouth is moving but he doesn’t know what he’s saying because all he can hear is Sebastian gasp when he takes his cock and thrusts until he can make Seb feel as good as he feels now. Sebastian comes hard onto his chest, his eyes screwed shut and back arching and it’s something that Chris will never forget for as long as he lives.

They come apart together. And it’s absolutely breathtaking.

Sebastian’s back flattens back against the bed, and Chris definitely can’t hold himself up anymore, opting instead to collapse next to him in a rather ungraceful fashion. And they just lie there, chests heaving and minds swirling and everything seeming to come together all at once.

Chris rolls off the condom that he doesn’t remember putting on. Maybe Seb did that. Who cares? A satisfied, tiny little sigh escapes from Sebastian, who then closes his eyes. Chris can’t help but sweep the now sweaty strands of hair off of his forehead, like they’re in some sort of romance movie. It just feels right. And…

“You called me…” he stops, wondering if now is the right time, and then says fuck it and finishes, “…called me ‘baby’ an awful lot…”

Sebastian flicks open an eye, not moving any other part of his body, and raises an eyebrow at him as their eyes meet. “ _Really?”_ he says with a smirk. “ _That’s_ what you’re focused on right now?”

And Chris supposes he’s right—that’s kind of silly, considering the mind-blowing, possibly life-changing sex that he just had with the man he’s been stupidly pining over for years. So he grins too. “No.”

The grin transfers, dancing through the empty space between them and settling on Sebastian’s lips, his eyes now closed. And then, as a sort of aftermath response, he says, “Does it bother you?”

“No,” Chris answers without thinking, because he doesn’t have to think. It threw him off, sure, but only because he wasn’t expecting such an intimate pet-name to be tossed around so casually. But… “Kinda into it, actually.”

Sebastian sighs contently, tilting his head towards him before sneaking a peek. “Good.”

They lay like that, softly muttering to each other for countless moments, then Chris rolls off the bed, leaving Sebastian with this tiny sort of lost puppy look that makes him want to kiss the stuffing out of him. When he returns with a towel, walking up to wipe the come off Seb’s chest, there’s this moment where they lock eyes and don’t let go. Chris rubs the soft towel against him and Sebastian reaches up, hand resting on Chris’s neck, and he slowly pulls him down towards him, meeting him half way and bringing their lips together.

That’s when Chris knows he’s never going to get over Sebastian Stan. And hopes he’s never going to have to.

 

* * *

 

 

Sebastian doesn’t necessarily start going out to the bars more, but when he does, he’s always sidled up to Chris. And Chris kind of likes it— _really_ likes it, actually. Because it means that Sebastian still trusts him, regardless of all the shit that went down between them and how shitty of a babysitter Chris was (for the most part).

And yeah, they dance and they drink more than they should and they go back to the hotel and nine times out of ten they fuck, but that’s not just it. Sebastian hangs around Chris more just in general—on set, after they wrap, sometimes for dinner—like he’s genuinely interested in spending more time with Chris. And that…yeah, that makes Chris feel pretty remarkable.

Anthony knows— _totally_ knows. And not just because he’s seen how they always press up against each other, even when they’re just sitting together, or how they lean in a little closer than necessary to talk, all fond smiles and approving glances. But he doesn’t say anything--doesn’t make it weird—because he’s Anthony. And who’s more laid back and accepting than Anthony? Nobody, Chris thinks definitively.

It doesn’t take a lot for them to lose track of where they are, how long they’ve been there, who they’re around, before Seb reaches out and pulls Chris down against his lips—sweet nibbles and hot tongue running smoothly against his. Chris lives for it, craves it, and Sebastian doesn’t need much persuasion to give it to him.

And when it happens—when they realign and press against each other, hot skin against hot skin—Chris pays attention, memorizes every touch and every sensation that he can, because this is it. This is what he’s been waiting for and what he’s needed and what he hopes he can hold onto for as long as he can. Because this is Sebastian. And he doesn’t want to get all sappy and shit, but he thinks maybe Sebastian might be the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

He tells him that one night, still slick with sweat and lungs still trying to catch up: “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me…” and Sebastian flashes him this goofy little smirk that just screams amusement. Like it’s simultaneously the sweetest and dorkiest thing he’s ever heard in his life. Like Chris is simultaneously the sweetest and dorkiest person he’s ever met in his life. And when Sebastian rolls his eyes in good humor and launches himself across the bed at him until their arms and legs are all tangled, and he smiles lovingly down at him, like maybe he feels the exact same way, Chris decides that he can definitely live with that.

 

THE END

 

**Author's Note:**

> *sweats profusely*  
> dear god...that was the first start-to-finish sex scene I've ever written. hopefully it doesn't show too badly. Evanstan made me do it!
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading! Please feel free to leave a comment if the spirit moves you!
> 
>  
> 
> [You can also come find me by the same name on Tumblr if you want :) I'm almost consistently a Seb/Chris Evans/Captain America fangirl]


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